


Frequency

by Relvich



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angels Are Weird, Angels are Frequencies, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Season/Series 05, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-08-29 03:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8473942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Relvich/pseuds/Relvich
Summary: When Luce first receives... it, he doesn't understand. Sam, however, is completely aware of the implications of this.God's cruelty, it seemed, knew no bounds.





	1. Chapter 1

For angels, it was different. But when was it not?

Humans were of blood and body. Angels… well, angels were multidimensional wavelengths of celestial intent. With them, frequency was everything and nothing was as solid as flesh and bone, but they were still somehow more immovable. More permanent _._ Maybe even omniscient, in a small way.

So when Lucifer felt the prickling burn of an unknown... _something_ settling against his outer ranges, he didn’t know what to think, exactly. Back then, he had been one of God’s adored children, and it had been the logical next step to seek His guidance.

“Father?” he felt at God’s workplace ‘door’ timidly. He knew his Father had been working on a new project recently, and he also knew He probably wouldn’t appreciate disturbance. But he felt this was a pressing matter.

“Lucifer? What’s wrong, dear one?” Lucifer didn’t quite know how to describe this new addition to his frequencies with mere language, so he pushed it towards his Father; tried to impress it into His conscious thought.

Whilst he did this, it dawned on him that it had sound.

_O God, what have I done? oGod, whathaveIdone? oGodwhathaveidone, oGod_

And so it went, over and over, an endless mantra.

Lucifer knew that He had heard this, because He winced.

“What does it _mean,_ Father?” God crouched down to be nearer to His creation, His son, and He sighed, sadness prominent in His eyes.

“You always were destined to be different, weren’t you?” He murmured to Himself. He shook His head before continuing.

“What it means, my precious child, is that you will be happy someday. Despite my cruelties, you will be whole again.”

“But Dad, I’m happy _now_.”

The creature known as God choked.

“I know, Luce. I know.”

-

God created Man, and Lucifer fell.

-


	2. Chapter 2

For humans, it was different. For humans, it was a tattoo.

Some people, at birth, had a special Mark somewhere on their body. The Mark could be in any language, could say anything. They were all unique, and this was because it was the thoughts of the person's soulmate upon seeing them for the first time.

When a child came into the world with a Mark, it was a blessing to the whole family. They knew that somehow, somewhere, there existed a person that could love their newest addition with their whole being- that they were destined to never be alone.

Sam Winchester, however, thought the whole thing was a sack of shit. If the Marks were a blessing, then his family would be happy. But both of his Marked parents were dead, Dean still drowned in self-loathing even with his Mark, and despite Sam’s own, he was still _here._

Here, watching brilliant light spill from Lucifer’s cage. Heaven's... no, Hell's most powerful weapon was free, and by his own hand.

_O God, what have I done?_

Before he had time to even register anything else, Sam was spinning, spinning, spinning, and he landed on a plane completely disoriented and confused. He and his brother had been ripped from the scene of his crime, and through his gratefulness he didn't even notice the heated prickle centered around his left wrist.

-

Suddenly, there was no pain, and Lucifer rose up out of his Cage and out of Hell like a vapor.

 _Thank you thank you thank you thank you_ thank you-

He saw two corpses and two humans in the room, but he was too frazzled to really care about any of that. But then he felt a _pull_ from one of them, the oversized one, and with a slap of reality he realized who the hairless apes were. The Winchesters.

The meat suits he and his brother were destined to wear to their deaths- one of their deaths, anyway. Because really, how else could it go down? 

But upon seeing, _really seeing,_ Samuel Winchester for the first time, he was surprised. This moment did not feel like he had imagined it would at _all._

Instead of annoyance and anger at this human who's permission he needed to regain his full power in this dimension, he felt a weird need to protect the mortal. To make him feel safe, to shield him from this conflict. Strangely, the fiery sensation around his edges from so, so long ago intensified immensely, but then died back down to a manageable level.

_Despite my cruelties, you will be whole again._

The memory pierced through his defenses and came to the forefront of his mind unbidden, and he pushed it away with venom.

Before he could say something -anything to get his mind from his burdensome past- he sensed the briefest flash of his Father’s presence, and then they were gone. He allowed himself to mourn the loss of opportunity for only a moment, but soon he too departed.  

He had plans to execute, after all. And he couldn’t let these complicated new feelings towards Sam Winchester stop him, no matter how much he wanted them to.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam didn’t think he could take this. Not today, maybe not ever.

 _Maybe it was someone on the plane,_ he rationalizes. _It could have been the motelier._

But Sam was never as good at lying to himself as his brother was. Even when he was going on his escapades with Ruby, getting hyped up on demon blood, part of him knew it was wrong. It curled in his stomach, poised to strike at him with flashes of guilt, of despair.

It’s just that the lust for vengeance that it shared a room with was always _so much stronger._

So no, Sam was not keen to lie to himself about this. The Mark on his left wrist was swirling and writhing with fiery blues and greens, and that meant that he had somehow met his supposed ‘soulmate’. That was that, end of story. And the only person that he’d seen since he last saw his Mark its normal bold black… well.

_It had to have been Lucifer. He was the only ~~person~~ monster he had ‘seen’ besides his brother._

As if Samuel Winchester needed another reason to hate himself. First, it was Ruby, Lilith, starting the _damn apocalypse_. And just when Sam had wanted to get better, had vowed to stop what he had started, it was like God Himself had spat in his face and told him ‘You are evil to your core, there is no escaping your soul, boy.’ He was the perfect match to the Devil, and if that wasn’t evil, Sam didn’t know what was.

He looked at the Mark on his wrist, halfway between glaring and admiring. It was beautiful.

He wished it wasn’t. If it wasn’t, maybe he wouldn’t be sitting here wondering for the umpteenth time what the strange runes say, or what Satan was _really like,_ because if he was Sam’s soulmate, then he couldn’t be _all_ infant murder and torturing puppies, _right?_

Dean started moving in his bed, rubbing at the sleep in his eyes, and Sam pulled his sleeve over the colors on his wrist. He was disgusted with himself- he was acting like a tween girl, when he should be making plans, trying to think this out.

Mark or not, he was going to kill Lucifer. He had to. He should _want to._

He tried to ignore the twinge of pain those thoughts brought him. It was almost easy, if he just focused on the self-hatred it was paired with.

Sighing, he turned to his waking brother, who was groaning at the discomfort of being wrenched from the dream world.

“Please tell me that was all a nightmare.”

“If you’re talking about the impending apocalypse, then I’m afraid not.”

“Shit.”

“That about sums it up, yeah.” _If only he knew._

The two went about their usual morning routine after that, except for when it was time for the concealer.

The Winchester brothers’ Marks had both been quite unusual when they were born- they were both in strange pictographic languages that matched no human tongue on earth. Mary and John Winchester had decided that for their safety, the boys were to begin wearing  thick bracelets or concealer when they started going to public school. Of course, Mary never lived long enough to see this policy realized, but John still had the boys follow it through; and now that they were adults, it was just easier. It saved them a lot of questions.

But this time, it was a little awkward. Dean coated his sky-blue, tan, and black Mark with the makeup, scowling. He then offered the bottle to Sam. He took it from his older brother tentatively, trying to keep his own colored Mark hidden.

“Hurry it up, we need to get on the road.” He remarked as he (blessedly) left the bathroom.

Sam let out a rush of breath in relief before quickly smothering his wrist in the liquid.

If Dean found out, he would think that this _meant_ something, that he was incapable of offing Satan.

He _needed_ to prove that mind-Dean wrong, needed it like the air he breathed. So he walked out of the bathroom, picked up his bags, and marched out the door after his brother, slamming it behind him.

He was going to kill the Devil. _He was going to kill ~~his soulmate~~ the Devil._

God, the rat bastard, help them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo, look at this. An actual chapter! Wow! Ha, it's still pretty short but. What can you do? I've got a Chinese test coming up (tomorrow), so. Y'know.  
> Let me know in the comments if you liked the old length better, this new length, something longer. Because I truly don't know.  
> Hope you enjoyed, Rel out!


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was picking at the cuff of his right sleeve, and Sam knew what that meant. The elder was worrying, and it had to have been pretty bad for it to have manifested into some physical form.

“You _know_ he’s fine, Dean.”

He grimaced and shot Sam a slightly betrayed glance.

His brother had informed him of the situation during their semi-awkward drive the night before. Apparently, the angel Castiel had been the one to teleport Dean to the old Chapel where the Cage door had been – and apparently, there had been Archangels descending upon Chuck’s home at the time.

Cas had wanted to fight.

Dean had begged him to run.

So… well…

Well. Cas hadn’t answered him, instead choosing to zap him halfway across the country. He hadn’t called or texted since.

So Dean worried. He worried and he drove their cheap rental car just a _tad_ faster than was legal, and he picked at the sleeve of his jacket. Honestly, the only reason that Sam had been able to convince him to stop long enough to catch some sleep and a motel last night was because they both _knew._

They knew that Cas was okay.

If he wasn’t, Dean’s Mark wouldn’t have been alive this morning, coiling and unfurling with its usual colors. It would’ve been blood red, it would’ve been stagnant.

But to acknowledge this would to be for Dean to accept that the heavenly being was his (and that he himself was the angel’s), that it was possible that he could be loved again; even after everything he did. It was to accept that he could be saved, _that he deserved it._

Therefore, the man worried. He worried and he denied.

And he drove.    

That’s all he could do.

-

Sam was tense. His brother may have been worried, but the younger was more than that. He was on edge. Dean could work himself up over pointless things all he wanted, Sam figured.  He had bigger fish to fry, like his- _no._

Like _Satan._

In retrospect, Samuel knows that isn’t fair. If his soulmate was someone normal (he scoffs to think of Cas as normal, but still) he probably would be sick with worry, too. And he knows how much his brother struggles with expressing his emotion, and he knows how afraid he is of being loved, of _loving._

But right now, he is allowing himself to forget these things about his brother. Dean was allowed to have peace, so _why wouldn’t he let himself?_

God knows if _he_ could have peace, he would. He would kill to keep it.

_And that’s the problem, isn’t it?_

_Look, your satanic tendencies are already showing._

_Weak._

_Shut up._ He chastises himself. _Stop it._

But the boy’s mind just kept ‘em coming, insults and barbs that sounded like Bobby, like Ellen, like Jo, like his dad, like _Dean._

_You’re a monster._

They all said it, just in different words, different ways. They voiced his worst fear come to fruition.

They were right, Sam knew. But he wanted to redeem himself, which meant he was worth something. Or, at least, he hoped.

But that was all he could do.

Hope.

So he hoped. And secretly, he prayed.

Unaware of his angelic eavesdropper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya, guys. Whoooo, I know it's been awhile. And I know this is still short, and that it probably sucks. I got it out as soon as I could, I'll probably edit it again sometime tomorrow. Also, enter dramatic Destiel! I promise Samifer is still the main ship, guys. This chapter is a little Dean-centric only out of necessity.  
> Also, if you enjoy Harry Potter and angst, I have a little something for ya. Red. , by me, is up on the one, the only, ao3!  
> *Shameless self-promotion end*  
> Welp, hope you enjoyed, Rel out.


	5. Chapter 5

After making a grown man (father, husband) cry for the fourth time in an evening, it started to get old. Honestly— you’d think it’d take more than simple sensory hallucinations. But no, place a few baby’s cries here, some blood there, and all you’ve got left to do is watch.

Bo-ring.

Well, some things were new, exciting. The fresh breeze around the human’s house was fun, for example. It simultaneously was made to go around the sides of Lucifer’s ‘form’, and also, went through him. It was strange, but it felt nice. Really nice. Nothing like the fires of hell; it could even be considered an opposite. Lucifer was definitely okay with that. More than okay, but anyway.

Ah, he seemed to finally have noticed the baby monitor. Yes, it had only taken him seconds, but to an angel (let alone an Arch) it dragged on like molasses. Every second, every millisecond was precious, and far enough time to get many things done. But Lucifer was waiting, now. And you couldn’t get many things done while you were waiting, not at _all._ So he was forced to just observe, and physically feel the time slip ever and ever away.

When the human managed to reach the foot of his dead child’s crib, he saw him kneel to the floor and clasp his hands, as if praying to an idol.

And that, _that_ was when Lucifer knew he had succeeded.

Now, to wait some more.

—

When the most horridly wasteful chore was done, Lucifer saw his chance. He took it, and the results were indeed victorious. Well… maybe not _victorious._ He had a vessel, at least.

It felt… too big and too small all at once. It was like getting new glasses, the adjustment period. Or ill-fitting clothes. But as Lucifer has never experienced these things, to him it only felt _wrong._ To him, it felt like betrayal, or infidelity, ~~or confinement~~ for those were things that he had seen and heard before. ~~and experienced, because Michael, one of his only true brothers in the world~~

When he eventually was able to make himself comfortable as he could whilst burrowed into the layers of meat and flesh and organs, the buzzing burn came back. But instead of it surrounding him, enveloping him in the endless chant (O God, what have I _done_ ), it centered itself around the man’s (his, now) right ribs.

_Huh._

So, as he had a vessel, his first ever, he would get to see what the thing looked like in corporeal form. Neat.

And as he lifted up the cloth covering his new middle (a… shirt? Maybe?) it revealed inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter, a glowing Mark. It was English, and it was a sprawling messy-ish script that matched none he knew of. Well, he had only been topside for a couple days, after all. He continued to inspect the Mark on his skin.

It was kind of… moving, almost. It had spiraling grey-blues, and some green. Some deep, deep brown. And just the _barest hint_ of darkest black, almost like a taint on the gorgeous words.

And the words. Just like the audio.

_O God, what have I done?_

It was a mystery, that was for sure. It was interesting before, when it was a constant ache (like the feel of something missing, a phantom limb) against his edges, but now that it seemed even more permanent (which, isn’t that funny: it was on a _mortal’s_ body now. Contradiction, contradiction) it was even more so.

 _What does it_ mean, _Father?_

And suddenly, he wasn’t so curious anymore.

Plans. Plans to complete, worlds to take over. ~~Winchesters to protect.~~

No. No, not actually.

If he could maybe kill Dean…

No. The Horsemen first. Winchesters later.

Yes, Winchesters later. And with that covenant, he flew faster than light to his next stop; letting the feel of the cool night’s wind carry him away from his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I've been gone a long, loooooooong while, and I'm sorry. But, I'm back now. This semester ran me ragged, and all of my stories went on hold. Now that my life's back in check, though, I have an update schedule. Frequency is scheduled for Fridays. For more details, visit my bio! :)  
> Alright, now that that's done, I really hope you enjoy this! please bear with me as I adjust back to Supernatural writings. I may edit this further tomorrow.  
> Hope you enjoyed,  
> Rel out!~


End file.
